There Is Always A Choice
by rab147
Summary: What if Spartacus made a different decision at Numerius's party? What if he refused to take Varro's life at the whim of a mere boy? Details the consequences of his choice. Takes place during episode 1x10 "Party Favors".


There Is Always A Choice

Takes place during 1x10 "Party Favors" when the Magistrate's son gives the order for Spartacus to execute Varro. The first part of this one-shot is taken directly from the episode and then goes off in a different direction from there. Obviously, this also diverges from actual historical events.

Since this is now rated T, I have taken out the worst of the language that would be said in the show. Just an FYI. Also, no slash.

What if Spartacus made a different choice that day?

Disclaimer: I don't own Spartacus or anything related.

* * *

_"Proceed."_

_"...Do we have a problem, Batiatus?"_

_"I said, proceed!"  
_

"Don't," Varro whispered as he looked up at Spartacus, his teary eyes urging him not to resist and to just get on with it. "Don't...they'll kill us both. There is no choice."

Spartacus's heart was pounding, his troubled breaths quickening at the situation he was being put in. Shaking, he held his gladiator sword poised above his friend's shoulder, who was on his knees beside him.

His eyes began to water of their own volition, and he shook his head in disbelief.

Was he truly being forced to do this, to execute the closest friend he had had since becoming a slave and a Gladiator? For a mere boy's amusement? This was only supposed to be an exhibition...how could Batiatus condone killing off one of his own gladiators, much less good Varro, because a spoiled boy demanded he do so?

"There is always a choice," he uttered back stubbornly, looking his friend straight in the eye as unbridled fear erupted inside of him for the first time in a long while.

Varro, with a wry, helpless grin, came back quickly, "Not this time."

Spartacus faltered, forcing himself to look away from the blond's gaze. The party attendants collectively stared on with bated breath, wondering what had paused the Thracian gladiator. They waited in awed silence to see what he would do next.

He sporadically glanced around himself with a hard gulp, taking in the four armed guards presently surrounding him. One of them was the one he had thrust against a torch for mistreating Mira, easily noticeable by his scarred cheek. The man's eyes revealed his satisfaction at what was happening, along with his smirk. Spartacus longed to extinguish the guard's amusement with a sword to his chest.

The Thracian's half-frantic eyes also caught small glimpses of certain people in the gathered crowd.

Batiatus, his Dominos, sternly urging him to do as he commanded.

Lucretia, or Domina, observing sharply with one plucked eyebrow raised.

Numerius, the Magistrate's son, looking on with slightly widened eyes.

Crixus, the former Champion of Capua, watching the events unblinkingly.

Ilithyia, the snake of a woman wed to the traitorous Glaber, appeared positively smug. She was clearly enjoying this.

And Mira, the slave who he had become acquainted with only just recently. Her soft gaze was that of troubled concern and sympathy, alone amid the many other spiteful ones. Even though he had not known her long, he could sense the same fiery spirit residing inside her that he so cherished in his beloved wife Sura.

He idly recalled her last words to him, less than an hour ago.

_You are an ass._

Good parting words, right there, he decided. The slave girl's statement almost made him smile just then, knowing there was no real ire behind it. At least he did not think there was.

It reminded him of many times in his past, where he'd heard that exact phrase addressed to him countless times by most of the female populace in his village. This was before Sura, of course, when he'd...gotten around quite a bit. And while he was sure all those girls had meant what they had said when they told him he was an ass, their words had always been spoken in a way that told him they weren't all that broken up about that fact.

Maybe the intent of Mira's words was similar? He didn't know her well enough to be able to tell one way or another, he supposed, as he had always been able to with his wife. His almost-smile disintegrated as his wife was thrust into his thoughts.

Was she watching all of this? Could Sura see the position he was in? What did she think about it?

He knew the answer to that last one, of course. He knew what her opinion would be. Do not what is easy, but what is right. He could almost hear her saying those words in his thoughts, just then.

Oddly, it calmed him. Marginally.

If Sura was observing all of this, Spartacus knew he'd do the right thing under her gaze. He could do no wrong in front of her. That's how it had always been. How it always used to be, anyway.

Mentally, he shook himself. Now was not the time for these things, he scolded.

Returning his mind to the disaster at hand, Spartacus glanced back down at his friend. Varro seemed to accept his sudden fate of death, but Spartacus didn't think he could do it. What about his friend's wife and child? How could he vanquish their husband and father from this world?

Before Spartacus even realized what he was doing, Varro lifted his arm up and grabbed the sword, pulling it downward. His friend's intent became clear all of a sudden.

No. No, he couldn't.

The tip of the sword penetrated Varro's skin, before Spartacus finally tightened his grip and yanked backward with all his might, forcing the handle and his arm out of Varro's grasp.

"NO!" He shouted aloud, impulsively deciding to take a stand in that very instant. HE WOULD NOT DO THIS!

Knowing that both of them would now be killed, Spartacus acted immediately, giving nobody any further time react.

Adrenaline pumping, he quickly closed the distance to the guard who had hurt Mira with one large step and attacked. The scarred man managed to parry the first strike, but it was a hurried and unbalanced block, allowing Spartacus to slash the man's head in half with his second swing, satisfyingly ending the guard's life in the process.

Wasting no time, even as sounds of panic erupted from the crowd surrounding them and chaos ensued as the party-goers frantically scrambled for the exits, he seized the dead guard's sword and whipped back around to plunge it into a second guard's exposed neck as he approached.

He heard Batiatus's angry voice roar over the pandemonium, "GUARDS!"

He paid not but a glance in his former Dominos's direction before he was spurred back into action.

Ripping the sword out of the Roman's neck and inadvertently causing blood to spray everywhere, Spartacus knocked aside the third guard's thrusting sword. He pivoted around and thrust his own sword straight through the man's head with shocking force. As he withdrew the blade from the hole in the corpse's head, he scanned the scene.

Many of the party attendants were on the way out the exits by now and the guard reinforcements were beginning to rush into the room at a disturbing rate. The Gods favored him though, as the reinforcements were having some difficulty wading through the flood of retreating civilians.

Varro called his name in warning and he turned around in alarm, noticing too late that the fourth guard was directly behind him, his sword in mid-swing. Spartacus jerked to the side reflexively, but was not quite fast enough and the guard's sword cut him painfully across the upper right side of his chest and shoulder. He winced at the shallow wound before blocking the guard's next attack expertly and spinning low with his blade poised outward, successfully amputating both of the fourth guard's legs at the knees where he was standing.

The man screamed in agony as his upper half fell to the ground in a largely growing pool of crimson blood. Spartacus returned his attention back to Varro, who was struggling against a fifth guard several feet away.

A sixth and a seventh guard headed him off from helping the unarmed Varro right away, requiring him to trade blows with both of them simultaneously until he finally smacked the sixth guard with a glancing elbow. This allowed him the time he needed to debilitate the seventh guard, and then sequentially sever the sixth guard's skull in a large splash of blood. He came out of that little spat with only a couple more cuts adorning his upper torso.

The entire fight seemed like it had gone on much longer than it truly had, but it had probably lasted not more than a minute.

Spartacus ran up to his friend just as Varro gained the upper hand and struck the fifth guard with his own sword. "We must go!" he yelled to Varro over the noise of the screaming Romans.

The guards were almost upon them now and Batiatus had assembled the remaining gladiators against him by this point. Spartacus would have greatly enjoyed striking most of them down, but he was no fool. Up against all of them at once he would stand no chance. So for now, he and Varro would be forced to run.

Varro came to a similar conclusion as he grabbed the sword sticking out of the fallen guard. His friend looked to him, silently asking what they would do next. The wheels turning in his head, Spartacus gestured to the nearest door behind them, "This way! Quickly!"

They jogged through it, Spartacus in the lead, down a hallway that would eventually take them to the outdoor courtyard where the gladiators trained.

As they sprinted around a corner, Varro accusingly said, "You shouldn't have done that!"

Not missing a beat, Spartacus answered, "Well, I couldn't let that happen. It's done now - let us focus on staying alive!"

They turned around another corner, but came to a stop at the sight of two guards making their way down the hall toward them, who sped up when they saw the two gladiators.

Spartacus knew he and Varro couldn't afford to be held up too long, since the other guards and gladiators were hot on their heels, so they would have to deal with these 2 guards as fast as possible.

He met the first guard head-on just as Varro attacked the second. Spartacus dispatched his guard with a blow to the face and threw him to the ground. Varro was having a bit more trouble achieving a hit on the second guard, so Spartacus charged and tackled the man. While he held the guard down, Varro broke the man's neck with ease.

Springing up, both of them raced forward as they heard the pounding footsteps echoing louder and louder from behind them.

As they emerged through two open double doors, Spartacus had a sudden idea and made a quick 180. Varro stopped to curiously wait when he noticed, fidgeting anxiously.

The Thracian hastily slammed the two large doors shut and slipped one of the two swords he was carrying into the middle of each door's handles, effectively securing them closed. For extra durability, Spartacus took a torch hanging from the wall and threaded that through the two handles as well.

Blowing out a breath, he surveyed his work for a moment before nodding, "That should buy us a little time at least."

Varro gave a nod back and the two continued their escape, dashing through the room they were in and out into another hallway.

Between labored breaths Varro inquired, "What do you plan on doing now? The back gate is always locked, and there is no other exit on this side of the ludus!"

Spartacus shook his head, "I do not know, but we will figure it out. Just keep running!"

The narrow hallway came to an end and they rushed out into the courtyard cautiously. There was only one guard by the gate, fortunately, who did not even notice them until they were right in front of him. His head was severed gracefully by Varro, who then moved up to the locked gate and rattled it frantically.

"Jupiter's cock, it's locked! We're trapped!" Varro was clearly upset, but did not give up trying to physically overpower the metal gate.

Spartacus stood back thoughtfully. He knew this was a dead end, but there had to be somewhere else they could go. Jumping off the cliff on the other side of the courtyard was out of the question for sure, as was staying there.

His eyes shifted around the outdoor space searchingly.

It was early evening and the cool nighttime air was rather refreshing against his bloody, sweaty body. His wounds tinged painfully, but he ignored it, instead attempting to come up with some clever way to escape.

He looked at the walls enclosing the courtyard on two sides...they actually were not very tall. The beginnings of an idea took hold at that moment, and he knew what they had to do. It was the only way.

Spartacus made his way over to the wall with the gate in it and turned around. "Varro," he called as he cupped his hands together.

Varro glanced over at him questioningly, "What?"

Spartacus squatted down a bit, bending his knees, and made upward motions with his cupped hands. "Get a running start and I shall give you a boost."

He saw understanding wash over his friend's face after only a short pause, with a flicker of doubt mixed in as he gazed up at the wall. "Are you crazy? You think I can reach that?"

Spartacus gave him an impatient look, "Yes, Varro, I would have it so. But we must hurry!"

Varro considered for a moment before shrugging his shoulders, "There is no other option, I suppose."

He steadied himself as Varro backed up a few paces and sheathed his sword at his waist. Varro started forward in a run, picking up speed with every step, until he reached Spartacus. Leaping up, Varro planted his right foot into Spartacus's cupped hands at the same time that the Thracian grunted and thrust upward with all his might.

Varro's fingertips barely caught the top edge of the wall, just as their was a loud bang from back within the ludus.

As Varro pulled himself up and onto the wall with the upper body strength only a gladiator possessed, Spartacus called up from the ground, "They've broken through the door! Hurry!"

Varro withdrew his sword and dangled it, handle down, as low as he could manage, "Grab this!"

Spartacus examined the height, deeming it attainable, and backed up. Getting a running start as Varro did, he sprinted forward and kicked off the wall to achieve more air. With one hand, the Thracian latched onto Varro's sword handle at the peak of his jump, grinning as he did so successfully.

Varro tightened his grip on the blade end with a grimace and began straining to lift Spartacus up onto the wall once he was certain the Champion of Capua had a solid hold.

As he struggled more and more to heft the sword and Spartacus up to the top of the wall, the blade dug into his palms harder and harder. The sharp sword blade sliced even deeper into his palms just as he was about to pull Spartacus all the way up, causing his grip on the sword to loosen against his will.

Spartacus fell ungracefully back down to the sand and dirt below with an unnaturally loud slam, landing in a dusty heap along with Varro's sword.

Varro grunted in distress, "Gah!" He cursed his hands even as they bled all over the place, dripping red liquid. Spartacus groaned as he recovered himself on the ground and stood up slowly, the dirt clinging to his sweaty body making him look all the more grimy and slave-like.

"Shite! Sorry, Spartacus. Throw the sword back up here so we can try again and take leave of this place already!"

The pounding of many footsteps could be heard once again, disturbingly close. Spartacus closed his eyes tiredly, coming to a sudden revelation.

The Thracian shook his head up at Varro, "No. They're coming, there is no time." He shot a look behind him at the door to the ludus where the ludus guards and gladiators would no doubt be emerging from any second. "Go! I'll hold them off as long as I can..."

Varro took an unsteady breath and intensely argued, "No way, I would not leave you to die in my wake! Either we both get out or neither of us do, my friend."

Spartacus refused with a hard look at his friend, "No, you must go! I am fine. Besides, I will be with Sura soon enough."

Varro bit his lip, "I won't let you sacrifice yourself so. How could I live with such a thing upon my shoulders?"

The Champion of Capua would not be refuted, however. "Varro, what of your son? Will you doom him to a life without his father? And your wife, what of her?"

Varro was silent after that.

Spartacus continued, "Live, and see your family provided for. Do that and I can leave this world with peace of mind."

After a moment of deliberation the curly blond-haired man gave him a watery smile, "I-...thank you. For everything. You truly are a great man, Spartacus. You'll not be forgotten."

A glimmer of a smile crossed Spartacus' face before it was gone as the Thracian visibly steeled himself. "Now GO!"

Gulping dryly, Varro shot him one last sympathetic look and with one final nod, Varro turned around in a crouch. He dropped down on the other side of the wall, and then he was gone, disappearing into the night.

The gladiators rushed out into the courtyard just then, followed closely by almost a dozen guards. Spartacus spun around to face them, a red-stained sword held down in each hand.

There had to be practically all of the guards present under Batiatus's employ that had not yet fallen; in other words, there was no hope of survival for him. He would not waver in fear though. Instead, he would take as many down with him as he could. After all, he was a Thracian warrior!

The guards and gladiators alike crowded around him, their weapons drawn. His back was to the far wall as he stared them down, waiting for the inevitable attack.

Doctore stepped up to the front of the group, his angry glare directed at Spartacus, "You dishonor yourself, Spartacus! You have signed your own death warrant!"

He scoffed, "So be it. I grow tired of this world anyway. I will not be commanded as a slave any longer!"

Clinching his fist up in the air, Doctore roared back, "You disgrace the way of the Gladiator! You are nothing, lower than the dirt beneath our feet!"

Spartacus tensed in resentment, "It is you who is nothing! As a man I once respected, surely you should see this! I now realize my error, Doctore; you are but merely Batiatus's delusional dog! Do you not wish to be free?"

Doctore responded, pulling out his whip with one hand, "Eno-"

Spartacus interrupted and went on, shooting looks at each gladiator mixed in with the mass of guards, "Do all of you not wish to be free, rather than the worthless slaves you are presently? Now is the perfect time to gain such freedom, if you would just embrace it! Varro has already safely fled these cursed walls - he is a free man. And you could be too!"

Even as he said it, he knew his words had fallen on deaf ears. Crixus raised his sword and pointed it at Spartacus, "Spoken like the wild beast you are! We all fight to be free, Spartacus, but we do it in the arena, where we can win it honorably like true gladiators!"

Doctore nodded in support of the Gaul as multiple jeers of agreement arose from the other gladiators, "Listen to Crixus, Spartacus. It is too late for your redemption, but at least realize your mistakes before you perish!"

As he finished, the dark-skinned man snapped his whip at Spartacus, lashing it gruesomely across his abdomen. The Thracian emitted a hiss at the stinging pain, shifting positions in a weak attempt to counter the next lash as Doctore raised the whip once again.

Doctore's hand was halted before it could strike again by none other than Batiatus, however, who had made his way onto the balcony overseeing the courtyard.

"Wait!" the small man demanded sourly, his lips a thin line.

Lucretia was there by his side, and Ilithyia, as were several slaves. Of them, Spartacus only knew of Naevia who stood at Lucretia's right, Ashur at Batiatus's left, and Mira, who stood next to Naevia solemnly. The others he had seen before, but their names were unknown to him.

As everyone glanced up to Batiatus, Spartacus's eyes met Mira's for a brief, fleeting moment before she broke the connection and stared straight ahead instead.

Batiatus glared witheringly at him, "Spartacus! It was I who saved you from death, and it was I who made you into what you are now! I gave you your bloody name! And this is what I receive in return?"

Batiatus clicked his tongue in pause, narrowing his eyes, "I had great aspirations for you, and I wasted valuable coin to groom you... I even kept my end of the deal to find your wife. Yet you still dishonor this ludus with your actions! You have gone too far this time, Thracian, and your defiance is no longer tolerated. I bid you well on your journey through Hell."

Spartacus gritted his teeth when his former Dominos continued speaking ruthlessly. "And seeing as you are no longer useful to me, I will part with some knowledge to darken your eternal slumber even further." He gestured grandly with his arms, a cold glint in his eyes, "It was a great tragedy the day your wife arrived, only to be taken from this world in your very arms. But you see, what you do not have knowledge of, is that there was no such ambush on your wife's carriage that day. No, young Spartacus, it was I who arranged for your whore of a wife to be dealt with like so, so that I may have your sole focus to myself and this ludus. What a waste that was!"

Batiatus's angry expression was altered to a gleefully smug one as he scrutinized Spartacus's rage building, "I invested in you, and you screwed me over, Thracian. For that, death is your punishment."

Spartacus shook in fury after learning of Batiatus's treachery, the hate showing clearly within eyes. He screamed hoarsely in outrage, his face reddening and a vein bulging on his forehead.

"BATIATUS!"

Batiatus gave him a petulant look, "Kill him."

"I will KILL you if it is the last thing I do!"

Spartacus finished just as the gladiators surrounding him roared and surged toward him with the guards. Infuriated, he let his most bestial instincts take over and stepped forward to meet them, letting out a battle cry of his own in the process.

They came at him from all sides, heavily outnumbering him. Spartacus swung first at the nearest guard and broke through his sloppy block with pure ferocity, slicing the man's neck open. Blood spewed out even as he twisted around and skewered a nameless gladiator with his second sword. Burning pain erupted across his back as several swords slashed him from behind.

He spun around, whipping his two swords outward with him, wounding the two gladiators and one guard standing closest to him. He ducked low to avoid a swinging sword and cut the man's arm off, hearing the blood-curling scream as he twirled away.

He procured a dozen or more slashes over his torso as he weaved around the mass of enemies like a wild beast, killing or injuring as many of them as he could, bellowing incoherently all the while. His vision had long gone blurry, his attacks were getting clumsier by the second, and his other senses were failing him one by one.

Pain washed throughout his body as one big wave, throbbing almost numbly at this point. The only thing keeping him going was his stubborn will to get to Batiatus, which was becoming a more and more vague cause as his mind became foggier and foggier.

It was a miracle no swords pierced his body until one finally did, at the hand of Crixus no less. His eyes widened in shock as he felt the cold metal blade puncture his stomach, his body tensing and back arching on its own from the white-hot lancing pain.

Spartacus's unfocused eyes dully met those of Crixus, who was not looking at him victoriously like he expected him to. Rather, the Gaul's eyes had more of a somber glint in them, curiously. Or maybe he was just seeing things through the wall of blurriness, he was uncertain. It still bothered him, nevertheless.

Spartacus drew short and ragged breaths as his hazy thoughts puzzled over his nemesis's uncharacteristic emotion-filled eyes.

He gasped and choked on the air entering his lungs when multiple white lances of pain joined the first as other swords met their mark during his lapse in movement, spearing him in various places. Some of the blades were withdrawn or torn out of him, while others were left sticking out of him.

His blood oozed everywhere and he stumbled sideways several steps; he knew his body was shutting down from all of the damage. He tried to maintain his balance with a few more steps, but fell to his knees instead.

Spartacus dropped his head limply, not able to hold it up any longer. He did not descend all the way to the blood-soaked ground though, using what remained of his dwindling life energy to stay upright on his knees, utilizing his two swords as makeshift crutches.

He was near the cliff edge now, only a pace or two away, which he had apparently unconsciously made his way over to during the fight.

Through the dark pressure of death pressing in on him, Spartacus heard Bataitus's voice, "And so Spartacus, slayer of Theokoles, falls..."

Spartacus raised his head up slowly, the despicable man's voice distastefully bringing him back from the brink and eliciting a shuddering second wind to flood through him.

He staggered to his feet with great effort, hunched with his arms held limply at his side, loosely gripping his blades. He was determined to prove the deceitful Roman wrong and defy him with every fiber of his being. He also ultimately longed to extinguish the man's heartbeat in the most violent way possible.

Spartacus was so out of it that speaking was just not possible. When he tried, all that came out of his bloody lips was a low moan. He was covered in his own blood and several swords awkwardly stuck out from his torso still, yet somehow he was alive and breathing, not to mention standing. Additional dark red blood dribbled out of his mouth and he realized he could no longer even sense the coppery taste of it on his tongue.

Lucretia scowled thinly, "The cockroach continues to live...what insolence! One of you," she waved down at the courtyard impatiently, "finish him already! I grow bored of this." After a second, Batiatus brusquely added, "Throw him off the cliff and start him on his journey to Hades, Crixus, so that I will not have to deal with his disgraced corpse!"

OOOOO

Mira watched on, horrified. She averted her eyes downward - she could not witness this any further. Naevia, noticing her friend's discomfort, glanced at her sympathetically before shooting Ashur a dirty look. His leering of her did not cease, unfortunately.

OOOOO

Back down in the courtyard Crixus moved forward, pausing at the Thracian's lack of reaction.

The truth was, Spartacus couldn't summon the energy to do anything more than he was already doing. Even his iron-clad resolve could not overcome his dying body.

So, when Crixus suddenly howled out a deep battle cry and rushed toward him, Spartacus could do nothing but stand there as the Gaul stopped in front of him and kicked him in the middle of the chest.

The powerful kick lifted Spartacus up off the ground, once again splattering blood from his fatal injuries, and he flew backward through the air over the edge of the cliff. Panic fleeted through his mortally wounded body as gravity immediately began working on him.

OOOOO

Batiatus huffed after seeing the Thracian gladiator disappear from view over the side of the cliff, his body no longer visible as it plunged through the clouds. "What a blasted mess," he muttered sourly, haughtily turning around and making his way back inside.

OOOOO

Spartacus dropped, his dead weight body twirling around itself against the air resistance. He gained more and more speed the farther he fell, picking up speed until he was no more than a streaking blur descending from the sky.

The ground at the bottom of the miles-high cliff face rapidly approached. He closed his eyes.

_Sura..._

OOOOO

A small rodent skittered around whimsically, sniffing the ground in search of food. It made its way around the dirt in a vaguely circular fashion, at its own relaxed pace.

The unanticipated boom rattled the ground slightly, startlingly the rodent and causing it to squeak in agitation. It scampered away from the raining dust and dirt, chagrined.

The rodent journeyed back over to where the disturbance had occurred once everything was calm and settled. It hesitatingly skidded down into the small dent-sized crater that had not been there before to investigate.

In the center of the crater lay a broken body, chest up, with its head lolled to the side. The rodent approached cautiously, imagining the possibility of food as it drew nearer. It sniffed the body in wonder, its whiskers brushing lightly against one of the shoulders.

The rodent abruptly stilled as it sensed something, its black eyes widening in alarm. It jumped away in a dash, bolting up and out of the crater in fright.

Spartacus's chest suddenly heaved upward spasmodically and two bright eyes sharply snapped open.

* * *

The End. Crixus's _300_ kick FTW! Well, not really. But still.

Hope you liked it. I wanted to get this out before the prequel Spartacus: Gods of the Arena premieres tomorrow, which I successfully managed to do it seems! Spartacus is AWESOME! Woo!

Also, I am considering writing a novel-length sequel to this, but it is still in the early stages of development so it may be awhile before I get that out. Plus, I need to keep up with my other fics.

I guess that's it. Until next time...


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